


Guardian Angel

by madi_solo



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Fantasy, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madi_solo/pseuds/madi_solo
Summary: Ever since his death, Morgana has been regularly haunted by nightmares of Matt Murdock in a fiery prison. When she finally becomes convinced that these are no simple dreams, she sets out to discover the truth about what happened to her husband. But the answers are darker than she could have imagined, and help comes from an unexpected place.Pairings: Matt Murdock / OC / Loki





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Seeing Thor: Ragnarok inspired me to start writing yet another Marvel fanfic, so here is the result! This one is a sequel to my Ascension series, but feel free to start here even if you haven't read the previous stories! Thank you for reading, and please remember to leave a comment and let me know what you think! Feedback is what keeps a writer writing;D
> 
> \- Madison

_"Morgana."_

_She turned at the sound of his voice, familiar but frightened. "Where are you? I can't find you!"_

_"Help me."_

_Flames flashed before her eyes, the sudden explosion of light amidst a sea of darkness blinding her. Sparks rained down, and she shielded her face, fiery embers cascading down her arms like tiny, hot pinpricks._

_"Morgana!"_

_He was screaming now, his desperate cries coming from every direction and ringing in her ears. Her throat constricted, the muscles of her chest stretched so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. Smoke seared her nostrils and stabbed at her lungs._

_"Where are you?" she wailed again, frantically spinning to and fro but seeing nothing._

_The towering walls of fire obscured her view of anything beyond herself, and they closed in more and more with each passing moment, threatening to consume her. She did not want to leave, not without him, but each intake of breath nearly strangled her. She had no choice._

_She had no choice._

Morgana bolted upright, coughing violently and gasping for air. Cold sweat beaded on her temple, her tank top soaked and clinging to her skin. Trembling from head to toe, she buried her face in her hands and chocked back a sob.

Another nightmare. Never the same but always similar. Since he had gone, she had known no rest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. He was in agony, afflicted and condemned to torment without end. Even in death, Matthew Murdock had found no peace.

That was her fear, and it paralyzed her. Why did it feel so real? Why could she see each excruciating detail with such horrifying clarity? What was this infernal wasteland scorched by eternal flames?

Raising her head, Morgana looked first at the empty space in the bed beside her, then at the clock on the nearby table. Three o' clock in the morning. With a heavy sigh, she threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. There, she paused and sat for a moment, alone in the darkness. It was difficult to summon the will to stand, but pacing the floors of her apartment was preferable to the terrors that hounded her sleep.

Sweeping several locks of long golden hair back from her face, Morgana stumbled into the adjacent bathroom and turned on the tap, not even bothering to flick the light switch. The water was icy when she bent over the sink and splashed it onto her face, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Closing her eyes, she straightened and allowed the droplets to carve biting trails down her cheeks, vaguely and unpleasantly reminded of the fiery embers glancing off her skin.

She quickly opened her eyes again as the nightmare threatened to resurface and hastily dabbed at her face with a towel. However, when all of the moisture had dried and there was not a single droplet left, Morgana still could not bring herself to put down the towel. Instead, she pressed her face into it as fresh tears spilled from her eyes. She could not return to the bedroom, could not face the reality that awaited her there. She would not see his crooked smile, his tousled brown hair, or the warmth of his eyes…

Minutes passed before Morgana managed to drag herself back into the lonely room. A strange mixture of yellow and neon lights filtered through the three windows lining the far wall, emitted from distant skyscrapers and high rises and billboards. New York City was like a living, breathing organism that never slept, and here in Hell's Kitchen, that was especially true. But now there was no Daredevil to protect it.

She tried to reassure herself with the thought that a number of heroes still took it upon themselves to defend the island of Manhattan and the rest of Midgard from those who sought to destroy it, but they were no longer her friends. She did not even know many of their names. Most of the founding members of the Avengers had passed on within the last ten years. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton—they were all gone. She still paid occasional visits to Natasha, Wanda, Sam, Peter, and Ava, of course, but it was not the same anymore.

Time did not pass for them as it did for her. Their hair was gray, their familiar faces wrinkled and changed. Some of them were bedridden, and eventually, most of them would not remember her. Morgana, on the other hand, did not look as if she had aged a day in fifty-five years. She had looked on, helpless, as the only family she had left grew old and departed the realm of the living. One by one, they had left her, and for each of them she had grieved.

She had started to believe that she was becoming numb to it all, until the day she lost her husband. Now, she had no partner to stand beside her in the midst of tragedy. Her daughter had stayed with her for a week afterwards, but Marian had a life and a family of her own to return to. Everyone and everything seemed to be moving on without her, and Morgana was beginning to feel like a burden to those who remained. Marian worried for her, but she did not want her pity.

Moving to the nearest window, Morgana parted the ghostly white curtains and peered out into the darkness. Below her, a city of mortals. Above her, a black sky. Though she could not see them because of the grid lights shining from the towers, she knew that somewhere up there, trillions of glittering stars were scattered across the vast expanse of the heavens.

An overwhelming sense of longing suddenly descended upon her heart with such a weight that her hand flew to her chest. A longing for the Realm Eternal. A longing for her home.

But Asgard was no more. Struck by the Twilight Sword of Surtur, the Golden City had been utterly destroyed many years ago. She would never forget the day Thor had come to her, having only a single eye, and told her of what had transpired. Even now, the grief was almost too much to bear.

Once, she had yearned to escape Asgard and never return. But now, she yearned for what she could never have. All homes, it seemed, were lost to her.

Bowing her head, Morgana closed her eyes and clutched the thin fabric of the right curtain between her fingers. Then, she opened her mouth and began to sing:

" _Drøymde mik ein draum i nótt_  
um silki ok ærlig pell,  
um hægindi svá djupt ok mjott,  
um rosemd með engan skell.

_Ok i drauminom ek leit_  
sem gegnom ein groman glugg  
þá helo feigo mennsko sveit,  
hver sjon ol sin eiginn ugg. 

_Talit þeira otta jok_  
ok leysingar joko enn —  
en oft er svar eit þyngra ok,  
þó spurning at bera brenn. 

_Ek fekk sofa lika vel,_  
ek truða þat væri best —  
at hvila mik á goðu þel´  
ok gløyma svá folki flest´. 

_Friðinn, ef hann finzt, er hvar_  
ein firrest þann mennska skell,  
fær veggja sik um, drøma þar  
um silki ok ærlig pell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the English lyrics for Morgana's song, which comes from an ancient Danish manuscript written entirely in runes:
> 
> I dreamed a dream last night  
> of silk and fair furs,  
> of a pillow so deep and soft,  
> a peace with no disturbance.
> 
> And in the dream I saw  
> as though through a dirty window  
> the whole ill-fated human race,  
> a different fear upon each face.
> 
> The number of their worries grow  
> and with them the number of their solutions —  
> but the answer is often a heavier burden,  
> even when the question hurts to bear.
> 
> As I was able to sleep just as well,  
> I thought that would be best —  
> to rest myself here on fine fur,  
> and forget everyone else.
> 
> Peace, if it is to be found, is where  
> one is furthest from the human noise —  
> and walling oneself around, can have a dream  
> of silk and fine furs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope that you are enjoying this story! Please remember to leave a comment and tell me what you think of the events that have transpired so far!:)

“Mom?”

Turning away from the window, Morgana gazed into the soft brown eyes of her daughter, who sat in the armchair across from her. Though much of Marian’s thick, shoulder-length hair was tied back from her face, several dark strands loosely framed her concerned features. 

“You look so much like your father,” Morgana remarked quietly. 

“Really? Everyone else always tells me that I remind them of you.” 

She half smiled. “It’s your eyes. He would get that same look when he was worried about something.” 

Frowning, Marian leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees. “I _am_ worried. I’m worried about you.”

Morgana shook her head stubbornly and refused to look at her. 

“Mom, you’re grieving. We all are. It’s perfectly normal to dream about him, to-to think he’s there when he’s not. But you’re suggesting that these nightmares are _real_ —that they’re actually happening.”

“I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were,” Marian responded firmly. “But, Mom…Dad’s gone. He’s not coming back. He made his peace with God, and he’s in a better place now.” 

Morgana’s eyes darted to meet her daughter’s, and she inhaled a slow, shaking breath. “I don’t know where he is, or what is happening to him. But he needs me. He’s-he’s trying to reach out me, and I refuse to abandon him now.” 

“Mom—Mom!”

She was already on her feet and moving toward the door, Marian following. She did not stop until a strong hand caught her wrist and compelled her to do so. Wheeling to face her daughter, Morgana angrily clenched her jaw. 

“Where are you going?” Marian demanded. 

“Saint Patrick’s,” she answered tightly. 

Marian’s eyes widened with instant regret, her hand falling back to her side. She glanced down and then up, her lips parting as if to say something. But Morgana did not give her that chance. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she turned and flung open the door. It slammed behind her an instant later, and Morgana did not look back as she left the quiet apartment building.

********** 

The sun set early, casting long shadows over the white-blanketed cemetery. Rows of respectfully spaced gravestones protruded from the snow beneath old, barren trees. A red brick wall formed a rectangular barrier around the final resting places of its inhabitants, but Morgana could still hear the lines of traffic rumbling by just beyond it. Here in this place, one could stand in the presence of death and yet still be surrounded by the persistent vibrance of life. 

Passing under the black twisted limbs that rose against a matrix of synthetic lights, her boots crunched with each step and left a trail of deep footprints in her wake. She clutched a bouquet of white carnations in her gloved hands, her long black coat swishing around her knees, and every so often, an involuntary shiver ran through her. Still, she never hesitated or lost her way, for she knew her destination well even in the dark. 

Finally stopping in front of a modest yet reverent headstone near the north end of the cemetery, Morgana suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Slowly, she knelt and released a shuddering exhale that puffed a small cloud into the frigid air. Then she silently read the words that she had engraved upon her memory every day for the past month: 

_Matthew Michael Murdock_

_Devoted Husband and Father_

_I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith._

_1985-2071_

Her watery gaze drifted down to the red roses that were starting to wither, and she scooped them into her arms, replacing them with the carnations. A thin layer of snow had gathered on top of the stone, and Morgana carefully dusted it off. Sniffing, she sat back on her knees and wiped her cold nose with her sleeve.

“I know you aren’t one for flowers or pretty things,” she laughed, tears spilling down her flushed cheeks, “but I had to bring something to cheer this place up a bit.” 

Silence. Morgana could feel the icy wetness soaking her knees, but she didn’t care. Blinking rapidly, she shifted and clenched the roses tighter. 

“All right. Maybe that’s not the only reason. I needed to let you know that I haven’t forgotten you. That’s why I brought carnations—for remembrance. Oh, look at me! Who would’ve thought that I would ever be so sentimental? You’re probably laughing at me. I…I wish I could hear you.” 

She choked back a sob, the lump in her throat scarcely allowing her to speak. 

“I do love the sound of your laugh. I don’t know if I ever told you. Even when I’d had an awful day, even if we’d fought, you would just _smile_ , and I couldn’t stay angry with you.”

Bowing her head and closing her eyes, Morgana paused to take a breath. 

“Marian thinks I’m crazy, and she’s probably right. But…but I know what I saw. I know that you’re still out there somewhere. I-I can hear your voice so clearly, and when I see you it’s like—” she shuddered and opened her eyes again. “It’s like you’re right in front of me. I don’t know who’s done this to you, but I swear—I swear to you that I will not rest until you are free.”

Her grip on the roses had become so desperate that their stems were nearly snapping in two, and she consciously loosened her hold. Slowly, she stood, her fierce gaze never leaving the headstone. 

“Fear not, my love. I am coming for you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we meet our villain... I listened to Cryo Chamber's "Dark Ambient Music Mix" while writing this chapter. Enjoy!!

_"No one knows what has become of you. You are lost to the world of the living, and they to you. Tell me—was it worth it? All of the suffering you have endured? The misery to which you are bound for eternity?_

_Matt was on his knees, heavy irons clamped around his wrists, and the chains extended into the impenetrable shadows on either side of him, ruthlessly stretching his arms to their limit. His head hung low, his eyes closed. His bare back was striped with open wounds that crackled and hissed like tossed embers, and it was only then that Morgana noticed something strange about his appearance._

_She could see through him. Matt's body was glowing, transparent, and ethereal. He looked like a ghost._

_The deep, malevolent voice continued to mock him, and she spun furiously in all directions. But she could not take a single step forward or backward, and she could see nothing else in the infinite blackness. It was as if a spotlight had been directed down upon Matt, intentionally making him visible to her. But Morgana could discern nothing of his location and nothing of his captor._

_Desperately, she reached out for him, but a sharp, electric sting stabbed her fingertips. With a gasp, she snatched them back and—_

Opened her eyes. Instantly realizing that she was back in her own apartment, Morgana clenched her tingling hands into fists and sat up. A chaotic mixture of hatred and righteous anger surged through her, as wild and dangerous as a raging fire. Seizing her pillow, she hurled it across the room, where it hit the far wall with a dull thud.

There could be no doubt now that this was the work of some evil entity, and Matt was in its clutches.

Morgana stood up so fast that her head started to spin, and she stormed out of her bedroom, down a short hallway, and into the open living area. There she stopped, chest heaving. Endless rows of orange and and yellow lights glowed just beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the walls, and strange shadows stretched the length of the room. To her left sat an L-shaped sectional sofa accompanied by a glass coffee table, and a larger cedar table with four black chairs stood directly across from her. On her right was a modest kitchen and the door leading out of her apartment.

Everything was bathed in darkness, with hints of eerie light drifting in through the panes and cream, translucent drapes. A sinister silence had descended, and all Morgana could hear now was the sound of her own rapid breathing. She clenched her fists tighter, her fierce anger driving out all sense of fear as she challenged her newfound enemy.

"Whoever you are," she growled, turning slowly, "wherever you are, I command you to reveal yourself!"

The air was humming with hostile energy, but Morgana received no response.

"I know you're there. You wanted my attention. Well now you have it! Show yourself, and perhaps we can negotiate!"

Several moments passed, during which her demand was met with silence once more. Then, thick black smoke started to materialize and slide along the floor. It gathered near the door, rising and curling on top of itself until it was taller than she. Morgana narrowed her eyes, every muscle tensing. The pungent odor of sulfur singed her nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose with a grimace.

All at once, the smoke dissipated and scattered into the far corners of the room as if driven by a gust of hot wind. She shielded her face with both arms when the wave of heat crashed over her, then lowered them slowly when it passed. Squinting, she discerned the silhouette of a man lingering in the shadows.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise," crooned a voice as rich as velvet. "I wondered how long this little game would persist before you decided to call."

Knees and elbows slightly bent, Morgana was prepared for him to strike at any moment. "Who are you?"

Following a dramatic pause, he proudly stepped forward. A narrow shaft of yellow light fell upon alabaster skin. Dark, deep-set eyes glittered in the shadow of a high, prominent forehead. Sharply defined cheekbones curved in toward a long, narrow nose, beneath which sat a pair of pale, thin lips that curled into a wicked smile.

"I?" He placed a slender hand upon his blood red tie. "I am many things to many people. But we need not be foes, you and I."

" _You—_ " she snarled, advancing, "you have taken my beloved, locked him away, and subjected him to torture. You have desecrated the most sacred journey of a soul and deprived him of the eternal joys of paradise."

His thick brows furrowed in mock offense. "Why do you accuse me so? I have committed no vile crime against your husband, for it was he who elected to make a deal with me."

"Do you actually expect me to believe that?"

He spread his arms as wide as the jacket of his black suit would allow. "Believe it or not, it is the truth. I cannot claim the soul of anyone who has not voluntarily subjected himself to my will."

Her confidence faltered, her lips parting as shock began to paralyze her. "What was this deal?"

"I am afraid that is entirely confidential," he replied with immense satisfaction.

"Enough of these games!" Morgana snapped, her clenched fists trembling with barely restrained fury. "Take me to him—now! Or I swear that I will soak this floor with your blood."

He laughed in her face, unrestrained and unafraid. "Well…that is not very good of you now, is it, Morgana? Would you dishonor the memory of dear Matthew so readily?"

She was shaking uncontrollably, every instinct screaming for her to end his life in a thousand different ways. But she couldn't do it—not before he took her to her husband.

"I assume that you want something from me," she answered finally, regaining her composure. "That is why you've come, isn't it?"

Clasping his hands behind his back, he squared his shoulders and canted his head. "Perhaps, as you suggested, you should discover for yourself what has transpired. Then we might discuss potential arrangements, once all is known."

Morgana watched as he turned and headed for the door. He stopped just shy of it and extended a hand toward its plain surface. Immediately, flames sprang out of the floor, crackling and dancing to and fro. They crawled up and around the doorframe, rapidly forming a burning rectangle which emitted such intense heat that it caused her to wince and flinch back from it.

Her door was gone, replaced by an infinitely black portal. However, if she gazed intently into it, she could discern a faint, warm glow deep within. That was where she would find Matt. She was certain of it.

"Follow me," said the mysterious stranger, entering the burning gateway without hesitation.

Morgana swallowed hard. She knew that what she was doing was dangerous. She knew that she could not trust this man—this creature—whoever or whatever he was. But she was willing to do whatever it took to save Matt. For her, no personal cost was too great.

Taking a slow, steadying breath, she stepped forward and walked straight into the portal, a wave of purple energy rippling over her form just before she vanished.


End file.
